


Afterglow

by rosequartzstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Married Couple, Married Life, granger-weasley family - Freeform, mentions of breastfeeding, rff 2020, romione, romione ficfest 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: After Ron and Hermione bring home their second child, they take a day off with all three of them in bed— and take a moment to rediscover how beautiful they think the other is. (Domestic Romione/Granger-Weasley family one-shot)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Romione Ficlet Fest 2020 on Tumblr, prompts "bringing Baby Hugo Home from St. Mungo's", "Arthur's shed", and "trainers". :)
> 
> You can find the original here: https://romioneficfest.tumblr.com/post/618408288009306112/afterglow

"Is Rose still at your parents'?" Hermione asked, pressing her brand-new blanketed bundle to her chest as she and Ron made their way to their little house in St. John's Wood.

"Yeah, why?" Ron said. "Want me to ask them to bring her back?"

"No, actually— that's exactly it. I've just had a baby, Ron, I could use a day off… Unless Molly would mind, of course?"

"Are you kidding? It's been impossible for her, going from a house of seven kids to an empty nest in the space of a few years, I'll be surprised if she ever gives Rose back," he said, waving his wand to send a silvery Jack Russell Terrier to the Burrow to inform Molly of Rose's extended stay. "Besides, it's not like Rose will mind, you know how much she loves going into my dad's shed with him to see all the crazy stuff he's been charming lately. You know, he's just managed to Lumos some trainers into glowing, says he got the idea from those light-up sneakers he saw in a Muggle storefront when we took him to London…" he trailed off, noticing Hermione's unusual quietness. "Tired?" he said, more tenderly.

"Yeah, you could say so," she smiled faintly, pressing the baby closer to her chest. "I should hardly think I'd need to remind you, Ronald, I've just had a _baby_."

"Pointing out the obvious, as ever," smirked Ron as he opened the door to their house and ushered Hermione in, the baby asleep in her arms. They headed straight to the bedroom: Hermione needed a rest, and their big, fluffy bed was just the place to be right then.

They had hardly settled down in bed when baby Hugo, emerging from his bundle like a sleepy Mandrake from a plant pot, began to cry. Ron's face fell: despite having lived through a baby already (and Rose had been no small feat), he felt a twinge of fear emerging again— after all, this was a new one, and how were they to know they hadn't done something wrong already? In her usual fashion, however, Hermione remained calm where Ron hadn't, even rejoicing at the baby's crying: "Oh, he must be hungry," she cooed.

"Alright, where's the bottle? I'm sure I can—" Ron started to say, already stumbling out of bed when Hermione's hand reached out to pull him back.

"Don't worry so much, Ron!" she said, a hint of a laugh in her voice. "Babies don't need to eat from a bottle all the time."

"Oh, brilliant, so you're just gonna _accio_ it here— blimey, Hermione, what are you doing?" he said as she started taking off her shirt.

"Feeding the baby," Hermione panned, and Ron couldn't help but smile at the hint of the old know-it-all he'd first known his wife as.

She held Hugo to her chest, allowing him to nestle in her arms as he suckled, and the crying dissolved into a bout of contented gurgling. As he looked at her, Ron couldn't help but wonder why exactly he couldn't look away: ten years with his wife, and he still kept getting caught off guard at how gorgeous she was. But there was something more this time— she was glowing. Basked in the afterglow of the joy of new motherhood, Hermione positively shone, irradiated with happiness as her son practically melted into her arms. _Our_ son, Ron thought, and his heart skipped a small beat.

They stayed in silence while Hugo ate, Hermione gazing adoringly at their baby (and Ron at his wife). Finally, Hugo drew away with a small coo, and immediately fell back asleep in his mother's arms.

"Isn't he lo- _oh_ -ovely?" Hermione yawned, and, even through the glow still coming from her, Ron could see how tired she was. "Look, he's got your hair…"

"A Weasley with red hair, who's ever heard of that?" joked Ron, as Hermione muttered 'Granger-Weasley', but Ron was more fixated on how Hugo's button nose was exactly like Hermione's, which he had pressed so many —too many to count— kisses to… "Do you need some sleep? You seem exhausted…"

"I do, actually…" said Hermione, and —to his surprise— handed him the baby. "I'm going to nap for a bit, is that okay?"

"Well, yes— of course— but I—" sputtered Ron, fumbling with Hugo and terrified he would wake him up, drop, him, hurt him—

Hermione seemed to recognize his fear. "Ron, you've had Rose before. She lived through that, and so did you."

"Well— yes— but this one's— I dunno, this one's different—"

He was surprised to hear a laugh from his wife: "Don't be silly, Ron, you're his father." And with that, she promptly rolled over in bed and dozed off for a well-deserved nap, leaving Ron staring wide-opened at the little baby, sputtering contentedly in his sleep, in his father's arms —outside of St. Mungo's staffers' supervision— for the very first time.

The nap lasted well through the afternoon: as Hermione began stirring from her deep slumber (no doubt brought by how hard it was to sleep properly in a place as crowded and chock-full of misplaced magic as St. Mungo's), their west-facing bedroom was now coated with an orange sheen that could only mean sunset. And there, through half-closed eyes, still struggling to flutter fully free of the bindings of sleep, she saw Ron. Bathed in the same golden light sifting through the curtains, his long red eyelashes danced with sun sparks as he blinked, and in his arms, cooing happily as his father sang him a little lullaby under his breath (careful not to rouse Hermione, unbeknownst to her watching him), was his son.

' _Our_ son,' Hermione thought, and —just as Ron's had done frequently since he'd realized Hugo was theirs, Hugo was wonderfully _theirs_ — her heart skipped a small beat.


End file.
